America's Storage Closet
by harryfreek
Summary: America is cleaning out his storage closet and stumbles across his old photo album an takes a trip down memory lane. Rated K  to be safe.


America was cleaning out his storage closet. It had been a while. He had already found an old suit his brother had given him years ago, toy soldiers and a musket. He was about to leave when he stumbled across his photo album. "Wow, I haven't looked at this in forever." He opened up to the first page. On it was a picture from his first ever world meeting...

"So today, we will determine a way to resolve the Quasi-War. America and France, do you think you can reach an agreement today?" said England in his snobby way. England and I still haven't recovered since the revolutionary war and England and France hate each other. I don't know why England was officiating the meeting if he hates us so much. Maybe Ireland should lead the meeting. Anyways, I then replied, "Why do you always have to butt in England? This isn't your war. You don't have to worry. When I get home, I'll write up my will betrothing my land to you if I die. Happy?" "No. That will not make me happy. Even though you left me, I still care about you and I want you to be safe. So, we are not leaving this building until we reach and agreement. Savvy?" "Savvy? England, isn't that pirate talk?" "It is. I am thoroughly disgusted with my self. Now if you would excuse me, I need to cleanse my mouth with turpentine." And away he went. Once he was out of earshot, we all filed out of the building and went home...

"That was a good meeting. I learned a lot about my fellow nations." He turned to the next page and what he saw shocked him. He thought he had gotten rid of this picture years ago! It was from his vacation in Japan. He was trying to learn about Japanese culture so he attended a typical street festival...

"Ah, America-san, welcome to our annual Kanda Matsuri. It is a festival celebrating and honoring the spirits of the Kanda Shrine. It is a very important festival dating back to the 17th century." I was intrigued. As a visiting dignitary, I was asked to take part in the parade. I was assigned to riding on the float of the great dolphin. I was taught the traditional dance and given the traditional attire and was forced to perform the most humiliating dance since ever in front of the entire population of Tokyo. Some tabloid journalist took pictures of this debacle and posted them all around Washington D.C. I was humiliated. I had to hide out for a week while the FBI went around collecting all the pamphlets and finding the person responsible for this crime against the greatest nation in the world...

"Disturbing. That visit made me question my relationship with Japan." The next page contained a pleasant memory. It was just after Canada had become a nation. America thought he would treat him to a lovely picnic but it was not all he had expected...

I arrived at the picnic area 5 minutes early. He wanted to make a good first impression on his new neighbor. He lay out the checkerboard blanket and opened the picnic basket. Inside were beef patties on buns with ketchup on top. This was a new food for America and he was excited to try it. His guest arrived and America was excited. However, his heart dropped as he saw England following behind. Why was England following? Canada was independent, right? Why did he need an escort? And then it hit me. While I became independent through war, thus proving my strength, Canada became independent by _"asking nicely"_. England didn't think Canada could make it on his own so he was escorting him to make sure he didn't get hurt. "Good day, America old chap. How has life been treating you?" "Oh save it England. Why are you here? This is a picnic for me and Canada** ONLY**." "Oh just shut up and let us begin our noontime meal". So America unwrapped the sandwiches and took a bite of what would be his first of many, many hamburgers. After his first bite, everything was a blur...

"Yummmmm... Burgers. I think I want to go get a burger now". And with that, he dashed out to McDonalds.

Once in the car, America flipped on the radio. On the radio was the 70's classic, Hotel California. This took him back to a strange afternoon with France...

"Mon amie. Why don't you take off your shirt? We're on ze beach in California." "Yah well. I don't like the way I look." "Here, let me help you". And with that, France started unbuttoning America's shirt... Meanwhile, out on his pirate ship, England was reliving the glory days as a pirate off the coast of California. His first mate looked through the spyglass to see the mainland. "What do ya see man!" yelled England to his first mate. "Nothin' Captain. Just a bunch o' guys taken' each others shirts off!"...

*Shiver* "Never again will I go to the beach with France". Just then, he pulled up to the drive-thru. To his utter surprise, England was working there. Imagine, England, who used to be the greatest empire in the world, reduced to working at a drive-thru. This takes me back...

"America, oh America. Please hurry up with my tea. My guests have arrived." "Coming master." I rushed out of England's kitchen carrying a tray for tea. Ever since the stock market crashed in 1929, I have been working in England's house as his slave until I make enough money to resurrect my government. "Ah, thank you America. Now go start fixing dinner" said England, clearly enjoying my humiliation. "Anything for you, master" said america, barely holding back the urge to beat the crap out of England and his guest. How dare he humiliate me in front of our fellow nations. How will I ever be a superpower if Whales, Portugal and Northern Ireland think I am England's... dare I say it... bitch. I walked back into the kitchen and I started making dinner. I didn't know what to make. Last night, I made burgers and England was disgusted. As if his cooking was much better. I remember growing up. His food had no flavor and had the texture of cardboard. Well, if he doesn't like my food, I'll make my food like his. So I grabbed a stale loaf of bread from the cupboard and cut nice thick slices. I put them in the toaster and waited for them to be ready. I took them out and spread a thin layer of butter, followed by a huge dollop of vegetable yeast paste. I put the food under a cloche and entered the dining room. I lifted the cloche and the look on England's face was priceless. It was a look of pure fear and disgust. I put the food in front of the guests and retreated back into the kitchen. Once out of earshot, I burst into a fit of laughter. For dessert I made the classic English dessert, mint tarts. I put them on the table, as a topper, added a dollop of irish coffee whipped cream, my homage to the only normal British colony. After dinner, I cleared the table and went to bed...

"So England, what brings you to this fine _** American**_ establishment?" "I'm dirt poor after the Royal Wedding. This is the quickest way for me to make money. Now... Welcome to McDonalds, how can I help you." Barely holding back a laugh, I said, "I'll have 2 double Big Macs, an extra large fries and a small diet coke. You know, trying to loose weight." "Alright _sir_, that will be $23.75." "Oh, sorry, I'm a bit short. Do you think I can pay you back next time?" "**NO!** If you can't pay, you must wash dishes. Now, get out of the car and get in her **NOW!**" So for the first time in over 300 years, England and I washed dishes together... And it was torture.


End file.
